


Thaw

by Checkerbox



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, pretty short and sweet so not much to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 01:58:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6884452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Checkerbox/pseuds/Checkerbox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're both a little frozen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thaw

He has to take an hour by himself before he can work up the nerve to step out onto her street. The stress building up somewhere deep inside of him feels almost like he's reliving their first date-worse, even, as he holds none of his old advantages and knows that if the evening should end badly there is no conceivable way his heart can recover.

Everything begins well enough. The very fact that she’d agreed to meet with him at all is a good sign. He waits until the people in her building have either left for work or fallen asleep and cautiously comes up to her door, as quietly as his heavy boots will allow.

The look of shock on her face, the slight gasp and a single, small step backward in her flat dress shoes is just something he has to soldier through.

She's wearing a dress that he's never seen before, dark blue and simple with a black jacket to keep her arms warm. Her hair has been tied up close to her scalp and away from her neck, pale and with somewhat disorderly curls. She is exquisite, and she is doing her best to not look at the goggles over his eyes.

He can tell that he makes her nervous. He'd give anything to be wearing a tuxedo right then and not the monstrous shell of machinery and cold that he needs to survive Gotham's lukewarm winter. There wasn't much he could do to appear even remotely presentable aside from a little polish and dismantling some of the suit's more intimidating features.

Not sure which greeting is appropriate, he simply says "Good evening".

To her credit, she recovers from the sight of him well, smiling politely and following him off her doorstep with her signature grace, despite the shaking.

The Iceberg Lounge is empty of patrons for the night. He doesn't tell her the favors he now owes the Penguin for that—he just holds the door for her and pulls out her chair while she marvels at the atmosphere.

It's late. He tells her she can have anything she wants; she agrees to some dessert and he's left with nothing to do but observe as she eats. Occasionally, she looks up, the small curve of her lips the one she uses to dissolve tension, but slightly broken-timid.

He's still making her uncomfortable.

"You look beautiful," he offers, and can tell he's touched on a sensitive area; her sleep worn eyes crinkle in a real smile, a relieved one, almost, before turning back to her plate again self-consciously.

"Thank you." Her voice is soft and sweet, and it's the first real thing she's said to him all night.

"I am glad that you are here," he adds, attempting a smile with small success.

She pauses, and stammers out, "It—I’m glad to be here too. I’m glad you—wanted to see me."

Encouraged, he takes her hand in his and indicates the icy ballroom floor. "Would you care to-?"

"Yes." She seems to blanche at her own eagerness. "…I-I would love to, yes."

The dance is slow and somewhat awkward with his suit on, but as always her skill, her grace, makes it perfect.

"How have you been?"

"I..." She hums and bites her lip. "Fine. I mean, I..." He raises a hand and brushes a stray hair out of her eyes, and she seems to lose her nerve. "How-how have you been?"

He knows she regrets the question the minute she's asked it. "I am well. Though..."

"Yes?"

_I am very lonely without you_. "It has been difficult to find…engaging work.”

Her chuckle is high and anxious. "I-I know what you mean."

She tells him how her condition has taken her away from her dancing and his heart starts to bleed. Seeing the way his lips twitch, betraying his feelings, she changes the topic to the weather, and tries to mask her disappointment for the lack of snow this year.

He wants to tell her that he would make a blizzard for her if she only asked.

Eventually they fall into a rhythm all their own and banter through the dance. It's as if the last few years had never happened, and for a moment—for a moment—

Then the night begins to wind down and she, hair fallen free and limbs trembling, asks him to take her home.

The drive back is silent. The tension builds again and he finds himself intermittently gripping and releasing the steering wheel while she rests her head against the cold van window.

When she turns around to face him at the door, all words catch in his throat. Her own are smooth and seem to come easily; she thanks him, says she enjoyed herself--that she needed a night out. It feels very much like a sendoff.

He prepares to leave, when she suddenly curls her painfully thin fingers around his glove and all but chokes out, "Stay?"

He hesitates, but in all of the years they'd been together she's never had to ask for anything twice.

It's a nice apartment-he appreciates being able to see more of it than a doorway view, though he feels more out of place than ever inside of it. She apologizes for the state of her living room, though it is clearly immaculate, and asks him if he would like any of the drinks that she'd put in the freezer beforehand.

"No, thank you." He feels awful for declining.

"Maybe some other-?" She's afraid to finish the sentence at first. "S-some other time?"

"Yes. When I find myself free." He hates the tinny distortion on his voice that causes the words to hang there. Free from Arkham, Batman, the police, his suit, it doesn't matter. "If you wish."

"I would like that." But she's not looking at him, she's fidgeting with her fingers and biting her lip.

"Nora."

Her ice blue eyes snap up to him, shiny and wavering and so very, very uncertain.

"Victor-"

Every wall crumbles, and able to think of nothing else he says impulsively, cutting her off, "I love you."

It is every bit a guilty confession, and in this moment he really does feel like a criminal.

Tears start dribbling down her cheeks; she kisses the glass of his viewing window, takes his hands and whispers, almost apologetically, "I know."

**Author's Note:**

> Self-explanatory, I think. Slightly edited re-post of something I wrote a while ago on FFN.


End file.
